Razor
by Cerulean.Phoenix7
Summary: His wit is as razor-sharp as her own. A "Counterpoint" tale.


Razor

A/N: This is set during the episode "Counterpoint", beginning the morning that Voyager makes for the sensor array and going through just beyond the end of the episode, delving into the perspective of Kathryn Janeway.

Thanks to Uroboros75 for the beta work.

Music: Mother of Dragons – Game of Thrones Season 2 soundtrack

Disclaimer: As with other previous statements, I do not own Star Trek Voyager, much as I would like to.

* * *

"You disappoint me, Kathryn."

She turns her head slightly, arms crossed over her chest and brushing against the edge of her combadge. She and Kashyk have been on the observation deck for the better part of an hour – undisturbed, as she had instructed Chakotay to ensure. The view from the large, generous windows leaves little to the imagination, swallowing it all into the whirling sea of color and energy beyond _Voyager_. She'd been the one to extend the invitation, stating that Kashyk seemed to enjoy the view in the mess hall last night, and perhaps would enjoy some more before duty called them both.

_"I thought you may enjoy the view,"_ she'd told him.

He'd taken one look out the window before responding. _"I think I shall,"_ he'd replied with an easy smile.

_Liar_, she'd thought. There was only one view he enjoyed, and it probably wasn't of the stellar phenomena beyond the bulkheads before them.

Their world is a spiral of deception and lies. They are colored by the pigments of their own desires, resolved to principle alone where protocol would tear them asunder. Kathryn Janeway knows this game, its multifaceted face that reflects every shard of dishonest light, casting it into corners that hold the deepest secrets.

It's the second time that Kashyk has called her _Kathryn_, but she doesn't dare allow that to slip. Personal connections must be stamped out in this instance, left squashed beneath the heels of her boots.

"Oh?" she asks, nonchalant and feigning curiosity. "How is that?"

Kashyk's eyes are steady, not even a blink dares to cross his expression. The ridges of his brow create shadows over his eyes, an onyx cloak over a steely expression.

The observation deck is roomy enough, but Kashyk seems to have no problem with close quarters as he steps into her space, leaving her little room to breathe between his skin and her own.

"Given the situation that _Voyager_ is in, caution is a necessity," she responds lightly as she takes a step away from him.

He doesn't let her keep the distance, and with a few more steps she'll be back against the window. "Caution is always wise, Captain," he adds with a smirk. "Yet, I find something contradictory about it. You found my vessel, alone, and you still allowed me on-board. You _trusted_ me enough to allow me onto your ship."

"That's a little presumptuous, don't you think?" she adds tersely.

He raises an interested eyebrow. "If I were still an Inspector, I would say yes. However, I find that our unique situation requires a touch of presumption, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hardly," she quips, her reply coming down like a whip. "Presumption assumes trust where there may be none, and in this case I can assure you that trust is a matter of high importance."

He takes another step, the space between them almost matching how much remains between her and the window. "And now I wonder why," he replies, brow set. "Is it because your trust in me is nonexistent?" When she makes no reply, a bemused look crosses his expression, pinching a mild sigh of realization from his lips. "Or is it perhaps… that you already trust me too much?"

She maintains her silence, not allowing him confirmation on either count. He's luring her into a poisonous realm that she will enter once and never leave. He _wants_ her to become comfortable with this, with _them_.

She knows that she would never enter willingly, but the theme for this little encounter is a rather bitter type of treachery, one that she must entertain, if only for a time.

"Either one may be plausible," she chides with a slight purse of her lips. "But it may be more _cautious_ to take the road more frequently travelled." She raised an eyebrow. "It seems to be the route you favor."

With that came the nail to the coffin of this discussion. If it weren't for the incredible lack of distance between the wall and her backside (not to mention her face and his) she might have enjoyed the banter for a little longer, but to stop a fire one must extinguish the flame.

"Hardly," he counters, shadowing her movements. "I prefer the routes that offer the stronger probabilities, the greater chances. Certainty is an ally, Captain, one that I have found to be most useful."

She turns her head slightly, letting the starlight fall over her face. "Then why did you leave the Imperium? Surely that path carried much more certainty than the one you've chosen."

He pauses, nonplussed.

_Aha_, she thinks, resisting the urge to smile in the dim light.

Morning accompanies such settings to the ship, keeping a relative sense of realism to a crew beneath foreign stars. But here it is always dark, allowing shadows to dance or slither where words find no harbor. She pretends to glance over at their abandoned cups of coffee, surely cold by this point. She won't push him any further for the moment, curious to see how he reacts to being dangled over the proverbial edge.

Desperation does not become him.

"I left because of what awaited me should I have continued down that path, and to be damned along with the rest of them is not a fate I'd choose."

She raises an intrigued eyebrow before moving away slightly, just enough to allow some air into her space. "And here I never suspected you to be one for superstitions."

He moves away this time, making for the viewport. The motion gives her a certain measure of relief, but still keeps her wary.

"I'm not speaking of superstitions, _Kathryn_," he whispers to the cosmos beyond. "I'm talking about morality."

His face meets hers, his expression cast in equal parts light and shadow.

_Third time_, she thinks, carving another mark into her own personal count, one she would share with no one. She thinks of it as nothing more than a gesture of how _close_ they're becoming, which she might have accepted if it weren't for the surmounting suspicion that his words were an attempt to slither beneath her skin and find her vault of secrets.

"The Devore seem to have a rather skewed sense of morality," she retorts, her breath steady and sharp like a knife.

"We prefer to trust our _instinct_ on some occasions," he says, drifting away from the window.

"Really?" she drawls, walking up and resting one arm, elbow raised, against the window frame. She braces the back of her hand against her face, feeling her knuckles dig into her skin. She knows it's a swipe at a previous comment she made, trying to even out the ground between them.

She suspends belief for a moment to consider the notion that there is no ground between them, only space to be conquered and traversed. Each of them holds their own side, with a razor-thin line bending between them. It serves as a tightrope, shining an enticing shade of quicksilver in the light of their determination. It's tempting, but she won't move before he does and risk having the world cut out from beneath her.

He nods once after a pause. "It fills the gaps that protocol allows, as contradictory as it may seem."

"Perhaps _contradictory_ isn't the word you're looking for," she replies, tilting her head to allow her hair to brush her shoulder. "Maybe… the protocols are _conflicting_ with the instinct that you've had your entire life."

_Careful, Kathryn_, she thinks as soon as the words leave her mouth. She may be keeping with the theme of falsity, but for all its transparent colors she still allows an ounce of truth to slip through.

Kashyk is one who feeds off truths, uses them, _craves_ them; she can see it in his eyes when she watches him at the window. To walk a path with him is to walk a path covered with shards of glass. If you try to run, your feet will be ripped to shreds beneath you.

_"Tuvok to Janeway,"_ the comm resounds with his voice as the sound rings with the clarity of a bell on the observation deck.

She takes her time in answering it, lowering her one arm gently before tapping her combadge. "Janeway here."

_"We're approaching the sensor array and are ready to begin Grey Mode procedures."_

"Good," Janeway responds. "Commence Grey Mode procedures. I'm on my way to the bridge. Janeway out."

She moves away from the window, knowing full well that Kashyk will follow her. He's been like that, trailing at her heels like a little wolf ever since he came on board. If it weren't for the razor-sharp teeth hiding beneath all his good intentions she might have found some of it endearing.

She stops to dispose of the coffee cups that they'd previously abandoned. "Care to join me, Kashyk?" she asks nonchalantly, letting the syllables of his name carve through the air like a sharp and unforgiving knife. This is still her ship, and even in a chess game she holds the rule book.

"Gladly," he responds curtly, stoically.

She knows that she's offering apparent trust as if she were holding out meat to a wolf. Distraction, in this instance, is key to her agenda. For the time being, she's just given him something else to sink his teeth into.

They walk down the corridor in silence, passing beneath shadows and brief interruptions of light. She dares a glance at Kashyk's face, at the precise moment that a ribbon of light passes over them, igniting his features. In that moment light and shadow play across his face and along the walls, inviting, _tempting_ her further into this destructive, deceptive game of theirs.

She'll oblige, for now.

She looks away, suspecting that he's attempting to wring enough trust out of her to fool her and expose her ploy, but arrogance is not a reliable asset out in these uncharted seas. The assumption of trust is a dangerous one, one that poses more risk to him than her. He doesn't expect her to see it, tangled amongst his blinding ambition and overconfidence, but she knows an ego when she sees one.

She's been watching him, observing him from the shroud of her own intentions. He isn't one to be led, and yet he's allowing her to do just that. She suspects that he thinks that he's still free, in a manner of speaking; free to turn and head back to his pack at the closest opportunity.

Of course, she's seen this. It's only natural that she tie an invisible leash around his neck when he wasn't looking, a leash that can easily become a noose with the flick of her wrist.

A door opens, exposing them in light as they exit into the main halls of the ship. The light is stronger here, but still subtle as the ship descends into Grey Mode. She's grateful that the lighting isn't too severe; one momentary blink of distraction could spell a whole mess of problems.

She carries on with Kashyk and security team in tow. He remains close, enough that she's sure that it's his breath she feels grazing against her neck. Her skin prickles slightly at the thought, but her uniform prevents Kashyk from noticing.

_As if he hasn't noticed enough_, she thinks.

As they gain distance from the Observation deck, Kashyk gains footing on her. He matches her pace, walking alongside her in a way that casts an ominous shadow over her shoulders. It's meant to be intimidating, and it would be, save for the fact that she's been walking alongside tall men for the past four and half years.

She wishes for an instant that the leash she imagined around his neck were real, so she could yank it back and show him precisely _who_ is in charge. Perhaps if she pulled hard enough, it would leave a mark on the flesh of his neck, a brand to remind him of where they stood.

As much as the thought amuses her, surprises her, she knows that it would be too easy. To turn the tables now would only spell certain retaliation that they are not prepared to deal with, and she is hardly ready to argue this from inside a Devore penitentiary.

_It'll just take a little time, _she thinks to herself as she subtly cuts Kashyk off when they round a corner.

Enough time for him to spread his wings… and for her to snap them off.

* * *

His shuttle powers up silently, an orange glow ebbing onto the floor of the shuttle bay as she and Kashyk stand closer to one another than she would like.

"I've made one adjustment to your plan," she says, earnest for once. "After the inspection, we're going to wait at the wormhole for as long as we can until it begins to collapse."

It's a half-baked truth, for while change is most certainly in _her_ plans, Kashyk has no idea just what the changes entail for _him_. She intends to keep it as such, pulling the veil over his eyes; she doesn't want to spoil the surprise for him.

He frowns, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. A tell. "I may not be able to join you this time," he says softly.

Her last play is important; it must be the embodiment of conviction, even if she's brimming with lies beneath it all. Believability is the key, and in this, she may just have the upper hand.

She moves closer to him, edging into his space because she knows that's exactly what he _wants_. "Try," she whispers, the words leaving her lips like a sensual breeze.

His response is a stare, enthralled and distracted. She moves away, content with what she's done and lets her eyes drift out into the bay. She's expecting him to move away, stroll for his shuttle and disappear into space.

She does not expect him to grab her arms and pull her lips to his own.

The shock is fleeting, remaining for only a nanosecond, before it's replaced by something that she's denied for far, _far_ too long. She curls one hand along the edge of his elbow, restrained otherwise by his grip on her arms. His control is reasserting itself, manifesting in the harsh grip he has on her arms and the sharp pressure of his lips on her own.

She pushes back as much as she can, letting her determination push against his arrogance. After a moment, he pauses and moves away. Not from defeat, she knows, but something else that she cannot entirely place.

Their eyes remain locked, his filled with a greedy desire that she's been sensing ever since they met. It's been duel after duel, jousts and swipes made at one another while they dance around what is clearly the source of it all.

In a moment of strange clarity, Kathryn takes his face and brings it back to her own, crashing his lips against hers.

This time, _she_ is the one in control.

Her hands are gripping his hair before he responds, pressing back against her lips with equal fervor. She runs her tongue along his bottom lip lightly, testing and teasing, but he does not give way. As much as she pushes, he doesn't allow her any further.

_Smug bastard_, she thinks as she grinds her nails against his scalp.

Despite the resistance, he doesn't move away from her. His hands rest on her waist, fingertips casually grazing the cover of her uniform that she knows he'd rather slice away entirely.

She dares one final sweep of her tongue over his lip before parting, drawing her hands out of his hair. He snatches one before it slips away, letting her curled fingers press against his lips.

_Nice touch_, she thinks without complaint.

There's a brief second before he moves away that she considers the idea that maybe she misjudged him, that maybe beneath all that protocol and _gharay_ speech there is a shred of decency within him. The pleasant burn of her lips and tingling of her skin certainly hopes so, but the logic rising within her again speaks caution into the face of such raw lust. She considers it again, and sees the sheer ludicrousness of the thought, brought about by things that have lain dormant for far too long.

As his ship flies away beyond the bay doors she sees it; she realizes just _what_ they are.

_Counterpoint_, she thinks. Their lives, in parallel for a brief time, harmonious in a single task before diverging back to conflict and adversity. That is what they are. Alongside briefly, but never truly together.

With that, her resolve strengthens for what must be done in the coming hours, and soon, Kashyk's undeserved wings will crumple to dust at her feet.

* * *

Her Ready Room is surprisingly quiet, save for a few exchanged words and the distant hum of Tchaikovsky over the comm. It went as she expected: Devore warships appeared, the inspection proceeded without encumbrance, and none other than a smug Inspector appeared in her Ready Room.

It's all a matter of dialogue now. A few last twists, and the rest will carry out before her eyes; for conviction and the portrayal thereof was her area of expertise.

There's the customary warning that comes with straying away from their flight path, and the usual response of exploration, which he shoots down like a misplaced bird.

"Exploring can sometimes be hard to resist, Inspector," she implores, and the look on his face tells her that he understands the underlying secret to her words.

"Well, it's certainly a romantic notion, Captain," he says, composure held tight to his chest. "But one I _can't_ allow you to indulge."

_Probably because you've never _indulged _in it yourself_, she thinks harshly, recalling boundaries left uncrossed.

After Kashyk dismisses his goons, she dashes for her desk, meeting him there. "Do they suspect anything?" she asks urgently, feigning a hint of desperation.

If he's feeling any sort of pressure, he doesn't show it. Even the slight shake of his head reveals nothing. "Not yet, but our warships have been monitoring Voyager's movements for the past few days, and mine as well. I don't think we have much time." He looks to the door and then back to her. "The Brenari?"

_Time to play your ace_, she thinks, her expression calm as she watches him. "In transporter suspension," she replies seamlessly.

His face lights up, and it makes her sick to think of the _real_ reasons why that is.

"And the wormhole?" he asks.

This is her final play, and she finds that the lies flow from her lips as easily as water.

"We've found it. It's twenty thousand kilometers off our port bow. We've determined that a properly calibrated photon torpedo will force open the threshold long enough for Voyager to get through."

He breaks out a smile, one that she knows is disgustingly genuine. "Congratulations, Captain!" he exclaims as he leans back in her chair. "For a while I wasn't sure if even _you_ could find it."

He pauses, his eyes fixed on her before he utters, "Prax!"

_Bastard_, she thinks as she withdraws from the desk and straightens her shoulders. Kashyk's entourage enters accordingly, faces stern with duty. His instructions regarding the Brenari pour from his lips with eagerness and gratification, and his subordinate is only too happy to carry them out.

She doesn't dare allow him the satisfaction of seeing her face now (though she thinks he would be highly disappointed if he did) and faces the door, the finality of what just happened coursing through her.

_Tuvok and Chakotay were right_, she thinks. _And so was I._

She decides that a little more play is in order, saying words that come out like a commendation when she means them as a venomous insult. "Impressive," she drawls. "You gave a _masterful_ performance."

She knows that those words will go directly to his ego, swelling it further than it was before, all to make his fall that much more spectacular. She notices him rising from her chair from the corner of her eye, leaning closer to her turned back.

"I'm the one who's impressed, with your selflessness, your _humanity_. It made all this so much _easier_," he says, voice ripe with vile pride.

He's gloating now, but soon that arrogant smirk will vanish from his face, which is the only thing that keeps Kathryn from vaulting back at him and laying a deserved smack across his cheek.

She turns back slowly, measuring her pace so as not to give anything away. "Oh? And what about _your_ selflessness?" she asks, hoping to nudge this conversation off-balance. "That touching story about the little girl... Was that a fabrication too?"

"Oh, that incident was _real_," he says unflinchingly. "What I didn't tell you was that after wrestling with my ethics, I realized that I had done the right thing in order to protect my people from a very _real _threat."

She suspects that he's eager to get this show underway, and waits for him to move for the Bridge. Instead, he does something else entirely.

"I suppose a more honest story is about a young boy I encountered in a colony about two years ago," he begins before she stops him.

"Another fabricated anecdote?" she almost groans. "Really, Inspector, if it's pity you're after, you've come to the wrong place."

He looks mildly insulted for an instant, recoiling before a sinister smile curls over his face. "Hardly, Captain," he replies. "As I was saying, the boy was young, no more than twelve, and not a telepath. Of course, since he'd been found in the presence of telepaths, we had protocols to obey. However, I took him under my wing, for a time.

He brings his hands together so that the leather clad tips touch, and his eyes go dark in the next instant, but she doesn't flinch.

"There came a day where we learned of what had happened to the rest of the colony he was in. Naturally, I had told him nothing of what would happen to them when I first found him." He raises a benign eyebrow. "However, I'm sure you can understand the insatiable curiosity of children; they always find out eventually."

"He found out just what you did to his family," she hisses, tone flat.

Kashyk gives her a slow, satisfied nod that knots her insides. "That he did," he answers, tapping the tips of his fingers together. The leather gleams like oil in the light. "And when he did, he put a knife to my throat."

_That _catches her attention, because it isn't like him to admit weakness, especially in instances like these. There's a gnawing sensation in her gut that he's going to shift gears back to arrogance in a moment, but she'll wait as she always has.

He appears to sense her silence as response and carries on. "That's when I realized that he was no different from the telepaths themselves. He was still a threat to my people."

"He was no different than any other innocent person that _you_ incarcerated," she lashes back, letting a little of her "humanity" color the room.

"Innocent?" he asks, rounding the table. "Come now, Captain. Even for you, that's a naive notion to keep."

He leans in close to her, one hand threatening to brush her arm. She shoots a raging glare at him, and his hand drops immediately. His jab at her is evident, and she'll take it because she won't allow him the satisfaction of seeing hurt splay across her face.

"You still don't trust me," he whispers, an underlying chastisement in his voice.

_And I never will_, she thinks. Trust must be earned; like carving a statue out of marble, it requires patience and persistence. It cannot simply be bought or pirated as Kashyk believes.

His two lackeys remain at the door, weapons ready to fire at the only real target in the room. Kashyk raises his arm and flicks two fingers at the soldiers, who immediately raise their weapons. "Please," he says, his voice reeking of smugness. "I insist."

She walks forward in front Kashyk as they walk onto the Bridge. It only takes her a moment to notice the Devore soldiers at the stations rather than her crew. The lack of color in this sea of obsidian is unsettling, but with the knowledge of what is to come, deeply satisfying. She moves to take her chair, but Kashyk stops her, his eyes glancing towards Chakotay's chair.

"Captain," he says as his hand touches her back.

She resists the urge to growl out a warning at him.

_Cocky bastard._

She doesn't argue, despite the usurping of her post. After all, she still has a front row seat for the show, and a show it certainly is.

The lack of a wormhole on the view screen after the first torpedo punches a palpable dent into his ego, and the confused shock on his face is well worth the patience she's put into this.

"You created false readings," he breathes out, the air draining from his body.

She withholds a smile. "That is the theme for this evening, isn't it?"

He's been bested and he knows it, but he'd tried to cross her first. Both of them had wandered into the eighth circle of hell, but it remained elusive as to _who_ had opened the gates in the first place. Had it been her, inviting him in for a taste of bitter poison? Or did he open the gate silently, admitting her in without acknowledgement?

The absence of the telepaths throws him even more, and she changes the musical selection, drifting from his realm of control back to her own. "Computer, change musical selection. Mahler Symphony Number One, Second Movement." After a moment she glances over at him and adds smugly. "Maybe this will help you _relax_."

The classical tones of Mahler fill the bridge as the comm sounds, alerting Kashyk to the disappearance of two shuttles. Though this doesn't surprise Janeway; that too had been planned.

It takes Kashyk all of ten seconds to realize just _how_ they managed to get those shuttles away without being detected. "Of course," he snaps. "Adjust their scanners to compensate for refractive shielding."

She glances over at him, feigning innocence as he fumes in her chair. "Well, you gave us the specifications. Seemed a shame to waste them," she says calmly.

He looks about ready to burst, his face mirroring that of an overripe Talaxian Tomato. He orders an immediate pursuit, but it's futile. By now the Brenari are at the threshold of the wormhole, and in a few minutes would be gone from Devore space.

Kashyk is furious when one of his soldiers relays that the shuttles are gone, and any trace of a wormhole vanishes with them. She remains in her chair, calm and collected as the final act to this little charade plays out before her.

"I'll order Janeway and her crew removed," his subordinate Prax says from the rear of the bridge. "We'll confiscate the vessel and deliver them to the nearest detention center."

He mirrors Kashyk a little _too_ well, she thinks. Prax descends to the main floor of the Bridge, all arrogant determination and pride.

"You're dismissed," Kashyk hisses, his eyes trained on the floor.

His second-in-command looks abashed, almost betrayed by this chain of events, and to Janeway it's like watching the cascading fall of dominoes, with the first falling and the rest following suit.

"Imperative twelve, codicil six requires," Prax begins, desperate and almost pleading.

Janeway pities him slightly in that moment, noticing what an unpleasant look that desperation is for the Devore.

"To hell with protocol, Prax!" Kashyk booms. "Do you think that either of us will benefit from having this failure on our records?"

His second makes no response, which altogether doesn't surprise Janeway.

"As far as you're concerned this incident _never_ occurred. Make sure your teams share that understanding," Kashyk growls, his face contorted with rage.

After another glance Janeway wonders if that's a touch of humiliation that she sees on his face. She wouldn't be surprised, considering the wings of his ego are now nothing but ash on his boots.

Prax withdraws sharply, motioning for the rest of the guards to follow him out. The Bridge empties, leaving only Kashyk and herself. She leans over and places her hands on the arm of her chair, waiting for his response.

He looks over after a moment. "Well played, Captain. It seems I never did earn your trust," he admits with finality.

"I had to take a _few_ precautions," she says softly with a tilt of her head. "You understand."

He grants her a half nod, eyes blinking once before he responds. "Better than anyone."

This should be the end of it, where they part ways and never meet again, but she decides that a little truth now won't harm anyone. "I never lied to you," she admits. "My offer to take you with us was genuine, and it would still stand if you had kept _your_ end of the bargain."

Despite everything, she would have found some placement for him in this smorgasbord of personalities; perhaps that ego of his may have even calmed.

The notion fades to a distant thought.

"For what it's worth," Kashyk answers, drawing her back to the Bridge, "you made a tempting offer."

And for once Kathryn Janeway sees true, untainted honesty in his eyes.

"The Bridge is yours," he says. Kashyk then stands to leave, strolling back to the doors that will take him away from everything that they possibly had in common, and perhaps never should have shared in the first place.

She watches him go, her eyes following the step of his boots. Just before he enters the lift, he turns back to look at her as the doors open with a _hiss_. The moment is brief, and part of her wanted it to last as long as it could, but like all things, it would have to end.

And it does. Kashyk turns away and enters the lift, snapping that razor-thin line between them and leaving Janeway's presence for the last time. It is how their lives are meant to interact, parallel for a time, periodic bouts of harmonious interaction, and then forever parting; it is the great tragedy of counterpoint.

The Bridge is now home to only her. It is _her_ Bridge, just as it is meant to be.

* * *

Later, in the solitude of her quarters, she studies her reflection in the mirror, a glass of whiskey abandoned on the counter beside her. The lights are dim, her face obscured in shadow and regret. She brings a hand up to the corner of her mouth and presses a shy fingertip to the skin, finding it to be warm.

She knows that she will not be forgetting this incident very easily, especially after the personal connection that she had allowed herself to form. The kiss is still sharp in her memory, the sensation still hot in her veins. She had felt as if she had branded him in that moment, burning some of her control into his skin, but the effect, apparently, was less than temporary.

The thought make her pause, fingers dangling on the brim of her whiskey glass.

Was this what she was becoming? A master manipulator with a keen eye for egos and arrogance? She doesn't want to believe it, but it rings true with a part of her, a part that came into the forefront during her dealings with Kashyk. She's never considered herself to be the manipulative type, being more one to know when to trust and when to outwit. In this case it was the latter, much to her chagrin.

_But how many more will there be?_ She takes her glass and moves into the main room. _How many more people will I have to toy with before I get this ship home?_

It's a grim prospect, mostly because of what it could do to her and her crew. If she continues down this road, will she be the same Kathryn Janeway when they finally reach Earth?

Kashyk was a necessary cause; had she not double-crossed him, they would all be interned at a Devore detention center by now, a notion she finds incredibly disheartening. The personal connection could have been a fatal weakness had she allowed it to flourish, but she knew better than that; she knew better than to trust a stranger.

Does she wish that there could have been _something_? That much is obvious. Between the glances and subtle messages underlying their words, she sensed an attraction from him that was already present in her. She'd had to go against it, mold it to her purposes.

Still, she had gotten close to him.

_Perhaps a little too close_, she thinks, reminded of the kiss. It was nothing short of passionate, and it startles her to realize that that razor-thin line between them may have been the only thing that kept things from falling apart. To have gone further would have been to walk on nothing but air and silver, where uncertainty was the way of things and chance the currency of choice.

Would she ever have a _normal_ relationship out here? More importantly, _could_ she?

Her initial reaction is a mixture of protocol and person, as she has been alone for the past four and a half years. But it's not just a matter of loneliness; it's a matter of _duty_. She knows that a relationship with any member of the crew is as unlikely as it is extremely risky, regardless of how close to some of them she may be, or might yet come to be.

A day may come where she can cross such boundaries with less inhibition, but for now, she resolves to taking a drink from her whiskey glass and watching the stars pass by.

For now and the foreseeable future, she would be the captain that the crew needs her to be.

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
